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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23756095">Equanimity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tallmatcha/pseuds/tallmatcha'>tallmatcha</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Banter, Carlos is an armchair therapist, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mini Slow Burn, Motel Bandwagon, Post-Game(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Valeveira, slow buildup</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:54:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,920</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23756095</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tallmatcha/pseuds/tallmatcha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mandated group trauma therapy is going poorly for Jill. Carlos has a better idea.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carlos Oliveira/Jill Valentine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>235</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Equanimity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Carlos Oliveira is an optimist. He considers it a blessing that they’ve managed to secure lodgings at all, let alone for free. The crisis shelter they’ve called home for the last two weeks belongs to a small, poorly-organized operation based on the outskirts of a seedy neighborhood, and it fits their needs perfectly. Due to the shoddy vetting process, no one questions their false identities. Their apartments are small and falling apart, but furnished and stocked with the bare necessities: linens, hygiene goods, clean clothes. Most importantly, the shelter isn’t affiliated in any way with Umbrella. He can’t believe their luck.</p><p>All Jill can focus on is the single condition of their residency: therapy sessions. Three meetings a week, one hour per meeting. The organizer calls them “self-discovery explorations.” Jill calls them what they really are: circle jerks. </p><p>The counselor doesn't inspire any of the calm he desperately tries to embody. The tone of his voice is breathy and pretentious, and the meditative music in the background only serves to irritate.</p><p>“Peace of mind is the theme of tonight’s meeting,” he says, tenting his fingers. “We are slowly moving toward serenity together. The more you share, the more you heal.” He turns to Carlos with a smile. “Ben, let’s start with you. Want to fill us in on how you’ve been doing?”</p><p><em> Ben </em> absolutely doesn’t, but he humors the man and clears his throat. “Er, all things considered...not too bad. I try to eat well. Work out. Take care of myself. Day by day, right?”</p><p>Carlos gives some variation of that reply every time he's asked, and it's always met with approval. But as he speaks, he can’t help glancing at Jill, who is openly glaring out the window. He seldom sees her outside of these sessions, and she always goes straight home after. He doesn’t get the impression that she’s avoiding him, exactly - it’s more like she’s trying to avoid the whole world, and that worries him more.</p><p>“Day by day,” the counselor repeats, nodding solemnly. “And on this day, our special word is <em> equanimity</em>. What does that mean, I wonder? Can anyone tell me? Anna?”</p><p>He turns his attention to Jill. It's a mistake, and Carlos winces preemptively. Jill isn’t a stray cat to be coaxed out of hiding, and she doesn’t appreciate being spoken to like a child. Neither does Carlos, but he has infinitely more patience.</p><p>“You picked it. You should know,” Jill snaps.</p><p>To his credit, the counselor manages to maintain his composure. He chuckles nervously, then clears his throat to address the room. “It’s evenness, people. It’s balance. It’s inner peace. It’s what we’re all working towards. And where do we find it? In one another.” He slots his fingers together and grins. </p><p>Jill’s disgusted expression mirrors Carlos’s thoughts: <em> Jesus Christ</em>. </p><p>Carlos spends the rest of the session trying his best to glean clues as to Jill’s state of mind. He nods and makes sympathetic noises when the others speak, but his focus is entirely on her. When she’s not scowling or rolling her eyes, she’s blank, detached and dispassionate. It’s not the Jill he knows. He admittedly doesn’t know her that well, but he recognizes red flags when he sees them. </p><p>She’s the first one out the door when the session ends. Carlos jogs after her and manages to catch her on the street. She whirls around, annoyed, but relaxes when she sees his face. </p><p>“Oh, thank god,” she sighs, patting her chest. “I thought you were someone from the session.”</p><p>Carlos chuckles. “We’re doing Word of the Day now, apparently. I’m not sold. Where are my cookies and my fucking juice box?” </p><p>Jill snorts. “Vaporized by a missile strike.”</p><p>“That’s a shame. Hey,” he steps ahead of her and spreads his hands. “You wanna hang out tonight?” </p><p>Jill raises a brow. “Hang out,” she repeats flatly. </p><p>“Yeah. Shoot the shit. Chill. <em> Hang out</em>. You should try it. You’re wound up like you’re ready to punch someone...possibly me. But, hey, if it helps you feel better, have at it.”</p><p>Jill waves him off. “I’m doing fine.” </p><p>“Yeah, I bet you are. Come anyway. Let’s say...eight? I’ll order pizza.”</p><p>Jill’s mouth flaps uselessly. Before she can decline, they reach the intersection where they normally part, and Carlos begins walking toward his complex. </p><p>“Bring beer,” he calls over his shoulder. </p><p>“Wait! Carlos, I don't even - ” </p><p>“I’ll see you in a bit, alright?” </p><p>“Carlos, wait! What...” She starts to follow him, only to be cut off by a passing car. She throws up her hands in frustration. Carlos mistakes the gesture, waves from across the street, and then disappears around the corner.</p><p>“God dammit," Jill mutters, defeated. "What kind do you even drink?” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Two hours later, she’s standing in Carlos's hallway, a six-pack tucked under her arm. Her knuckles hover over his door, and she pauses. This is a scene from someone else’s life. She doesn’t do this. She doesn’t show up with beer and <em> chill, </em> or <em> shoot the shit</em>. She...</p><p>She’s not quite sure what she does, other than anxiously wait for trouble to find her. Resigned, she knocks at last.</p><p>Carlos opens the door, grinning. “How about that. You showed up!" He steps aside and waves her in. "Thought you were pizza, but this is better.”</p><p>“Better than pizza? You need to start ordering from better places.”</p><p>“And you need to learn to take a compliment. Thanks for these, by the way.”</p><p>Jill shrugs sheepishly as he takes the six-pack and sets it down on the coffee table. “Sure. I, uh...I hope my pick was okay.”</p><p>“It’s beer. Of course it’s okay. <em> So</em>...” Carlos grabs the remote and turns on the TV. The opening credits of a familiar and infamously overblown cop drama roll across the screen. “We’re going to play a little drinking game. Anytime a weapon is mishandled, you take a sip. Someone says 'partner,' take a sip. Bad guy monologue, sip.”</p><p>Jill passes him a bottle. “Isn't this supposed to be played with shots?"</p><p>He ignores her question and points his chin at the screen. “Hey, this episode starts in a donut shop. Two sips.”</p><p>“Excuse me? You didn’t mention that rule.”</p><p>He grins and passes her a bottle opener. “You’ll learn the rules as we go.”</p><p>“You mean you’ll make them up as we go.”</p><p>“Questioning the host - three sips. That’s five total, supercop. And that's why we don't play this with shots.”</p><p>For the first time in weeks, Jill Valentine laughs - really, genuinely laughs on a whim, and not at some cynical observation. She’s surprised at how easily it comes to her. Or, rather, how easily Carlos is able to pull it out of her. <em> Charming bastard</em>. She can’t even fault him for looking so pleased with himself. </p><p>An hour later, she’s slamming her second bottle onto the coffee table and doubling over, trying to keep from snorting beer through her nose. Carlos has an uncanny talent for impressions and ad libbing, and it’s on display in full force tonight. His laughter is shameless, and it occurs to her that despite the fact that he’s the only person she has willingly interacted with for the last two weeks, it’s her first time hearing it. </p><p>She likes it. It’s contagious, sincere, and unexpectedly soothing. </p><p>Three loud bangs at the door cause them both to abruptly tense up. Jill springs to her feet and reaches for a gun that isn’t holstered to her hip. She turns to Carlos, frantic, eyes wide. </p><p>“Where are your weapons?” She demands.</p><p>“Jill - ”</p><p>“<em>Now</em>, Carlos. We don’t have - ”</p><p>Carlos starts to reach under the couch, but then he shakes his head. He stands and grips her shoulders. “Pizza, Jill. Pizza delivery. Remember?”</p><p>Jill’s mouth hangs open. She releases her grip on Carlos’s arm and slowly sinks back onto the couch. Carlos apologizes and briefly leaves to pay the delivery man. When he returns a minute later, she’s blank and serious again, watching the TV with complete disinterest. He waits for her to do something, say something, or at the very least acknowledge the smell of the pizza. When she doesn’t move at all, he closes the box and grabs the remote.</p><p>“Let’s try something else,” he says. The TV shuts off with a soft <em> whirr</em>. “Talk to me.” </p><p>Jill blinks, taken aback. “About?”</p><p>Carlos snorts. “<em>About</em>. About Raccoon City.”</p><p>Jill shakes her head, almost angry. “No. We’re not doing this. You’re not my new shrink.” </p><p>“Not trying to be. Just wanna help.”</p><p>“Help me by dropping it, Carlos,” she snaps. </p><p>He leans in and frowns at her. “You need to talk about it with someone who knows how you feel. I was there. I get it. You don't need validation or a pat on the back, but you do need to get all this rage out of your system. It's not healthy.”</p><p>“Duly noted, mom.” </p><p>Carlos crosses his arms and sighs. “I waited by your bedside for two days. I can and will sit here all night.” His eyes soften. “Just be straight with me, Jill. Are you okay?”</p><p>Jill scowls, and for a few absurd minutes, she actually resents him for caring so much. But the memory of what he did for her at the hospital tugs at her sympathies, and her irritation quickly dissipates. It crumbles altogether when he ventures a small smile.</p><p>“No,” she admits at last. “I keep thinking I’ll walk outside and find everything torn to shit all over again. Cars on fire, people screaming, things exploding left and right. The mansion, and now this. What’s next? Hm? What <em>fucking</em> <em>nightmare</em> is going to spring to life and fuck up my day next?”</p><p>She gets up and paces the room, livid. </p><p>“I wasn’t armed when Nemesis broke through my goddamn living room. I wasn’t prepared, Carlos. And because I wasn’t prepared, I nearly died. I have to be on one-hundred percent of the time, or <em>that </em> happens. I take that fear with me everywhere. It’s all I ever fucking think about anymore.” She returns to the couch, flops against the cushions and presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. “How the hell are you just...dealing with it?”</p><p>“Honestly?" Carlos snorts and leans back, mirroring her. "I’m not.” </p><p>Jill blinks, surprised. “But during therapy...”</p><p>“I just tell them what they want to hear. It makes the session go by faster.” He drags his hands down his face and stares up at the ceiling as if considering whether or not to say more. For the first time that night, he looks deeply uncomfortable. He sucks in a deep breath. “I went for groceries the other day. Left a bag on the belt by accident. The cashier ran out to catch me. He tapped my shoulder and caught me off guard, and I just...” He mimes a punch, grimacing. </p><p>Jill hisses through her teeth. “You get him?”</p><p>Carlos nods miserably. “He looked at me like I was a monster, and I don’t blame him. I...kind of am.” He rubs his forehead. “I was proud when Umbrella recruited me. Proud. Can you imagine that? I thought, great, Carlos! Here’s your chance to go legit! All of that shit was happening right under my nose, and I didn’t suspect a thing. What does that say about me? Stupid fucking...”</p><p>The words are directed at himself, but Jill feels unexpectedly wounded. “Hey,” she says, touching his knee.</p><p>He looks at her apologetically. “Fuck, I’m sorry. This wasn’t supposed to be about me.”</p><p>She plucks another beer out of the pack and hands it to him. “Looks like we’re both a little messed up.”</p><p>“Just a little.” </p><p>They clink their bottles together with wry smiles. </p><p>“I’m sure there’s a quote...” Jill motions for the bottle opener. She pries Carlos’s drink open first, then her own. “You fight monsters for long enough, you end up becoming one. Something along those lines.”</p><p>“Literally,” Carlos chuckles. “You know, because the virus...” </p><p>Jill snorts, but allows herself to smile. Then, her expression turns pensive. “Oh, my god,” she whispers. “Brad, Tyrell, Mikhail...” </p><p>Carlos reaches out and grasps her shoulder as she buries her face in her hands. There are no tears - as he suspects, she’s not the crying type. He lets her work through her emotions in silence, but keeps his hand on her shoulder to remind her that he's there. He can tell, by the mere fact that she hasn’t shoved him away, that it’s all she needs.</p><p>After a long time, she straightens up and looks at him, utterly exhausted. “They didn’t deserve to go the way they did.” </p><p>“No,” Carlos agrees softly. “No, they didn’t.” </p><p>Once an adequate, comfortable silence has passed, he turns the TV back on. He flips through the channels until a <em>Looney Tunes </em> rerun fills the screen with dull, static-ridden technicolor. </p><p>“You were right,” Jill mutters. “I needed that.”</p><p>“I know. I think I did, too.”</p><p>Jill sighs, leans back against his outstretched arm, and closes her eyes for just a minute. All she needs is one, quiet minute...</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When she opens them again, he’s shaking her gently. “What?” She asks, groggy. </p><p>“I was just asking if you wanted to borrow something to sleep in.”</p><p>“If I...” Jill rubs her eyes.  She checks her watch and gasps at the time: 11:45 PM. “Why didn't you wake me up?”</p><p>Carlos shrugs. “You seemed like you needed the rest. I know what it’s like to be that tired. And...well, then a Bugs Bunny marathon came on, and I kind of zoned out myself.”</p><p>A mortified blush colors Jill’s cheeks. "Oh, shit, Carlos...I’m so sorry. You were nice enough to have me over, and I just...ugh, how rude!” She quickly gets up and begins gathering her things. “Look, I’ll go and let you get ready for bed. God, I can’t believe myself...”</p><p>“Stay the night,” Carlos urges. “You can take my bed. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.” </p><p>Jill begins to decline, but then she thinks of her tiny, sparse apartment. The way the shadows leap and crouch in the darkness whenever a car goes by. The flickering hallway light. The pathetically flimsy front door. The wind howling through the loose windows, sounding too much like the agonized groans of the undead. She doesn't turn away from Carlos in time to hide the anxious look on her face.</p><p>His eyes soften. He sits down on the couch and motions for her to join him. “Listen...for what it's worth, being alone here at night freaks me out, too.”</p><p>Jill relaxes somewhat. If he’s scared, she can be scared. She vaguely wonders when he became her barometer for normality. “You don’t mind?” She asks, wincing.</p><p>Carlos smiles. “Stay, Jill. We’ll both feel better. Let me find you a t-shirt. I know I’ve got clean pajama bottoms somewhere...”</p><p>Jill shakes her head. “No, don’t trouble yourself. I’m fine in this. And don't give up your bed. I'll be okay on the couch." </p><p>“If you say so.” He takes a blanket from the other end of the couch and passes it to her, then stands up and stretches. “Anyway, my room’s right there. If you feel like talking some more, just knock. Even if it’s the middle of the night. Otherwise...I’ll see you in the morning, I guess. Sleep tight, alright, supercop?”</p><p>“I’ll try. And, Carlos...”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Thank you." She tucks her hair behind her ear. "Really. I mean it.”</p><p>He leans against the doorway and smiles. “I know you do,” he replies quietly. </p><p>The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable, but it stretches on just a touch too long. They exchange small, awkward waves, and then Carlos disappears into his room.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>If anything bursts through the door to kill them, it’ll have to deal with them both. At least, that’s what Jill tells herself as she stares at the moonlit planes of the wall, waiting for a sleep that feels like it’ll never come. Carlos’s apartment is nearly identical to hers. She might as well be at her place. Everything is the same, down to the shifting shadows and the suspiciously dark corners. The only difference is that his room is where hers would be. A dim bar of light glows beneath his door like a beacon - could he still be awake? </p><p>The blanket slides off her lap and pools on the floor. She pads over to his door and knocks. </p><p>There's a brief pause, and then, “Jill?”</p><p>“No, Nemesis.” </p><p>“Ha<em>.</em>”</p><p>She opens the door and finds Carlos sitting up in bed, reading. He doesn’t look up right away. “You should borrow this when I’m done,” he says. He dog-ears the page and places the book on the nightstand. “You’d think a horror novel would be a terrible choice, considering...” He glances down at her bare legs and pauses. </p><p>Jill shrugs. “What? You’re in your boxers.” </p><p>“Right. That’s...fair, I guess.” </p><p>Jill is either oblivious to or unconcerned with modesty - probably both. She doesn’t seem to mind when Carlos’s eyes sweep over her body. He can’t help it. She was gorgeous covered in dirt and blood, and she’s only more gorgeous to him now, all long limbs and soft skin, backlit by the dim lamp. He likes her hair like that - tousled, strands of it falling over her face, begging to be gently brushed back. The weariness in her eyes makes her look contemplative and fragile. </p><p>Her voice breaks him out of his reverie. “Here’s what’s really worrying me,” she sighs. She leans against his desk and drums her fingers along the edge. “We’re witnesses. Umbrella isn’t going to just let us slide. They'll figure out that we survived, if they don’t know already. It’s not a matter of if they come for us, but when.”</p><p>Carlos swallows. She’s absolutely right, of course, even if he hates to hear it. The reminder at least serves to quell the dull burn of arousal building in the pit of his stomach. </p><p>“We can't stop to rest,” she says. “We haven’t earned it yet.”</p><p>“No,” Carlos agrees. “But we can’t just constantly live in fear, either. </p><p>She crosses her arms, eyes ablaze. “So...what do we do?”</p><p>Carlos knows that look. She wore it most of the way through Raccoon City, and whether or not she realized it, it sustained him. Gave him the push he needed to fight beside her, survive with her. Now, it stokes an ember of defiance in him, and just a lick of righteous anger...along with something else. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and returns her determined stare.</p><p>“We do what we’re best at,” he says. “Look out for each other, and wing the rest.” </p><p>“That’s a given,” Jill agrees. She pushes off of the desk. “But I meant right now.”</p><p>She steps closer until she’s standing directly in front of him. Carlos looks up at her, desire plain on his face as he runs his fingertips along the backs of her knees. Her hands come to rest on his shoulders, and she kneels to straddle him. A loud argument breaks out in the hall as he pulls her onto his lap. The commotion makes her tense up, so he holds her close, tracing circles over the small of her back. He waits for her to tear her eyes from the direction of the noise before kissing her just once, quick and soft. When she doesn’t shove him away, he does it again and lingers long enough to share a whole breath before pulling back.</p><p>Jill pushes him onto the bed. She immediately wants to devour him, fuck him for all he’s worth, kiss the air from his lungs. She wants to take as much of him as she can, then quietly slip away before this turns into something she can’t handle. But it’s already too late: he’s stroking her face and coaxing her lips apart with his tongue, gentle and achingly tender, urging her to focus on the shared warmth of their bodies and the steady, deliciously slow grinding of their hips. His hands drift up her back, following the shift of her shoulder blades as she pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it to the floor. </p><p>There’s a scream from the street below, but it’s quickly followed by a peal of laughter. For a moment, they both go rigid with anticipation. Carlos recovers first and caresses her thighs soothingly.</p><p>“Just some drunk assholes,” he reassures her, nuzzling between her breasts. He slides his hands up her ribs to cup them, testing the delicate weight of them in his hands.  “City sounds. Normal shit. We’re safe, I promise.” </p><p>“Just you and me,” Jill breathes. </p><p>“Damn right," Carlos murmurs. His eyes fall shut as she runs her fingers through his hair. "You and me."</p><p>She whines as his thumb sweeps back and forth over her nipple. He lowers his mouth to it and sucks gently, applies just the right amount of teeth, pulls away with a soft, wet kiss. He hooks a finger under the waistband of her panties and looks up at her, seeking permission. Jill eagerly lifts her hips and slides them off herself. She’s already wet, and he’s able to plunge two fingers into her without resistance. </p><p>“Oh, shit,” he chuckles appreciatively against her ear. “I’m flattered, Miss Valentine.”</p><p>“Fuck you,” Jill laughs.</p><p>Carlos grins slyly. “God, please do. But, first...”  He curls his fingers just so - <em> come hither </em> - and coaxes a small, wretched moan from her lips. She’s unbelievably tight around his fingers, tense even in pleasure. A spring under pressure, coiled up and ready to kill, practically a weapon herself. </p><p>He wants to disarm her, soothe her, reduce the waking nightmare of her world to the haven of his bed. He withdraws his fingers and swirls them over her clit, steady and rhythmic. Within minutes, she’s writhing up into his palm, panting with breathless delight.</p><p><em> There it is</em>. Carlos snaps to attention. His mouth moves from her chest to her neck. “That’s it,” he whispers. His free arm snakes around her back, holding her to him. “Let go. I’ve got you.”</p><p>“Carlos,” she pleads, her voice small and desperate. </p><p>It feels like falling, except he’s there to catch her. It’s a tempest of conflicting emotions - vulnerability, which she loathes with a passion. Self-consciousness - she still can’t quite believe she’s in his arms, naked, coming with his fingers buried inside her. Despite all that, what she feels most strongly is pure, boundless pleasure, a kind she’s never experienced alone or with anyone else. She barely knows him, warns a distant, rational voice in her head. He was a stranger less than a month ago.</p><p>But she wants him like she’s never wanted anything or anyone before.</p><p>Still reeling from release, she tugs off his boxers, locks her legs around his hips and pins him beneath her. She lines him up and sinks onto his considerable length, lowering herself inch by inch. She’s already gasping before she’s even halfway down.</p><p>Carlos reaches out to caress her hips. “Easy,” he soothes. “You don’t need to take it all at...” </p><p>And then his breath hitches as she does just that. They both let out a shuddering cry as Jill collapses onto him, cradling his head, fingers curling in his thick, dark hair. They remain that way for a few moments, barely moving as she adjusts to the fullness of him inside her. Eventually, with some effort, she draws herself up and looks down at him. </p><p>“Hands off,” she demands.</p><p>Carlos immediately presents his palms, respectful as ever even in the heat of the moment.</p><p>“On the bed. Keep ‘em there.” </p><p>He complies and smirks, intrigued. “Is there a problem, officer?” </p><p>Jill’s fingertips drag from his collarbone to his sternum as she slides her hips forward. She braces herself against his chest and repeats the motion, slower this time, relishing the pain as it quickly turns to indescribable bliss. It doesn’t take her long to find her rhythm, and when she does, it takes everything in Carlos’s power not to grip her hips and thrust up into her. He steels himself against temptation and flattens his palms against the mattress with a shaky exhale. Jill marvels at his self-control. Something about the rapt, disbelieving way he looks at her, the sight of him restrained by nothing more than his own sense of obedience...something feral and possessive catches fire in her chest. </p><p>Carlos firmly believes that any other man would weep from sheer frustration. He wants to defy her. He wants the whole building to despise them both. He wants her screaming, clutching, scratching, fucking him right back, all night and well into the morning. But there’s something about this, too - her blissfully shut eyes, the torturously slow roll of her hips, her hands drifting over her breasts, between her legs, everywhere he longs to touch. It’s like starving at a feast.</p><p>“For fucksake, Jill,” he gasps. “Please...”</p><p>He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for until she gives it to him. She leans down to kiss him, then rolls onto her back, waiting, thighs splayed invitingly. Carlos positions himself between them, overeager. Jill reels back against the pillow and cries out in ecstasy, clutching his shoulders as he thrusts in again and again, faster and harder every time. They fit together perfectly - Carlos could swear they were made for each other. Sex is sex and he enjoys it as much as anyone else, but this is different. This is...he can’t remember the last time he felt so damned good. So wanted, so close, so perfectly attuned to another human being. </p><p><em> Just you and me</em>. He kisses her, wild and raw and needy. <em> Fuck everything and everyone else</em>. </p><p>It’s the last thing he thinks before abruptly pulling out and spilling across her stomach with a shivering moan. </p><p>For what feels like a long time, he hovers over her, dumbstruck. Her eyes are half-lidded, and she looks utterly satisfied and wholly unbothered by the mess he’s made. Carlos takes a few more moments to commit the sight to memory before reluctantly rolling off of her.</p><p>“I’ll, um,” he laughs incredulously. “I’ll get you something to clean off all the...”</p><p>“Mind if I hop in the shower?” She’s already up and heading for the bathroom before he can reply.</p><p>Carlos follows her, digs a fresh towel out of the linen closet and hangs it on the rack. He’s about to leave her in peace when she grabs his hand and pulls him into the stall. The sight of her in the rising steam, face tilted up and peaceful, is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. He wraps his arms around her stomach and buries his face in the curve of her neck. Jill smiles and tilts her head back against his shoulder. They remain that way for a while, swaying slightly, eyes shut against the water.</p><p>The words spill out, foolish and blissful but completely sincere. “Stay as long as you like,” Carlos says, just loud enough to be heard over the hiss of the  shower. “I’ll take care of you.” </p><p>“I have things to do in the morning,” Jill counters, too quickly. “Really early. I’ll try not to wake you.”</p><p>She’s lying, and he knows it. But he kisses the nape of her neck, hugs her tight, and says nothing more than a perfectly genial, “Okay.”</p><p>Eventually, she turns the water off. She exits the stall first, dries off and quickly heads back to the bedroom. Carlos takes a few minutes to thoroughly towel dry his hair before following her. </p><p>In the bedroom, he finds her stretched out over the covers, head resting on her arm. He stands in the doorway and watches her roll languidly onto her back, certain that he’s either dead or dreaming. A smirk turns up the corners of her lips as she spreads her legs and holds her hand out to him. He takes it and crawls over her, hungry all over again.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It’s cold when Carlos wakes up. He’s disappointed, but unsurprised to find his arms empty and the covers on Jill’s side of the bed rumpled. He sighs, knowing that he’s unjustified in feeling hurt - what did he expect? He would have liked a goodbye, at least. Maybe, in the clear light of morning, she had marked the whole thing as a big mistake. She’d probably never bring it up again. </p><p>He hears her in the living room, rummaging around for something. Her footsteps grow closer to his bedroom door, and he shuts his eyes. If she wants a quiet exit, he won’t begrudge her. He doesn’t want to make things more difficult for her than they already are. She’s not ready, she might never be, and he has to be okay with that. He slows his breathing as she enters the room. She leans over him and spreads another blanket over his body.</p><p>Then she slides in beside him, shivering slightly as she presses closer to share his heat. Her bare skin is cold against his own, and he realizes that she never bothered to get dressed. He opens his eyes just enough to read the clock on the nightstand: 10:12 AM.</p><p>When he turns over, he finds her smiling, perfectly aware that he’s been awake all along. He chuckles, brushes her hair back from her face, and pulls her back into his arms. </p>
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